


if it’s all in my head, tell me now

by Sadie_B



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, The Author Regrets Nothing, it’s about the Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadie_B/pseuds/Sadie_B
Summary: In which neither Kate nor Anthony seem all that interested in attending their own bloody engagement ball and the sexual tension in the room could be cut with a knife.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Comments: 22
Kudos: 369





	if it’s all in my head, tell me now

_ Ah, Gentle Reader, there is no event quite like an engagement ball. And last night’s revelry in honour of Lord Anthony Bridgerton and Miss Katharine Sheffield did not disappoint. While the wedding ceremony itself shall be a private affair, Bridgerton House opened its doors to all the ton, so that they make share in the joy (and envy) of the upcoming nuptials._

_ However, it seems Dear Reader, that the lovely couple may beg to differ. It has come to This Author’s attention that neither the Viscount nor his bride-to-be where anywhere to be found for a good portion of the evening. Whatever wicked follies or misdeeds did the two get up to? That, Gentle Reader, I shall leave entirely up to your imagination._

_However, while the dreaded rumour mill still focuses on the precise circumstances that have led to the sudden betrothal of Lord Bridgerton and Miss Sheffield, This Author is more and more inclined to believe that we may be in the presence of an honest to goodness love match_.

** LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 12 MAY 1814 **

* * *

“I shall have you know that it is consideredquite improper for the woman of the hour to disappear from her own engagement ball.”

When Anthony eventually found her, Kate was standing by a windowsill, looking out at the gardens of Bridgerton House. His words had clearly caught her off guard, snapping her out of whatever trance she was in. She quickly brushed it off, looking up as he joined her by the window. “I could say the very same to you.”

“It’s my house. I can come and go as I please.”

It occurred to Kate that this would be her home too soon enough. In two days time in fact. She knew they wouldn’t be moving into Bridgerton House straight away. However, if married life was anything like the whirlwind of their engagement, the moment would come sooner rather than later. Soon she would be a tiny fish in a extraordinarily large pond. But of course she couldn’t tell her betrothed any of this. So she just shrugged and said, “I just needed some fresh air.”

He arched a quizzical brow, “And you thought that you would find it in a hallway?”

“You know what I meant.”

“I do.” He turned his gaze to the window, where some guests had begun to congregate in the garden. A dangerous game indeed, he thought, speaking from personal experience. “I suppose this past week has been a tad-“

“Overwhelming?” She suggested.

Ignoring the fact that she had ripped the exact words from his mouth, he simply nodded. “That is one word for it, yes.” He leaned against the wall, taking the rare opportunity to admire her without any prying eyes. “Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?”

She was thankful for his choice of words. If he had said beautiful or even pretty, she would know that he was only amusing her. But “lovely” was in just enough of her reach that she could believe it. Or at least try to. She could be lovely. She could feel lovely. “No, I don’t believe you have.”

No attempt was made to hide the fact that he was clearly admiring her from top to bottom. “What can I say? There is nothing quite like a lady in red.” He mused to himself whilst running his fingers along the fabric.

“Well you have your mother to thank.” She chuffed as she knocked his hand away.

He really did. Never in her life would Kate have dreamed of buying such a dress for herself, let alone being able to afford one. The whole piece was crafted from red silk, hand-stitched by the infamous Madame Delacroix herself. And the modiste most certainly lived up to her glowing reputation. Dainty red roses were skilfully embroidered along the hem, up her bodice and around her neckline. Even the curls sat on top of her head were held in place by a collection of rose-shaped hair pins. One might almost have called her a vision. Not Kate, obviously, but someone.

What could he say? His mother loved flowers. Almost as much as she loved to interfere in the private lives of her children.

Kate tucked a stray strand of hair behind her eye, growing acutely aware of his intense gaze. “You simply must tell her to stop buying me so many gifts. It is all far too much.”

“Give her time, she will expunge it from her system eventually.” He was lying of course, but what Kate didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

“Eventually? What else is there left to give? There’s already the dresses and the gloves and the nightgowns and the-“ She stopped, clearly realising that she had already said too much. “Never mind.”

“Oh no, do continue, my interest is piqued now.” He pushed himself off the wall, standing to full attention.

“I shall not, your mother has sworn me to secrecy.” She hadn’t exactly done it in those words, but there was no reason that he should need to know that.

But that only egged him on even further. “Oh really? Well now I have to know.” He leaned in close, almost conspiratorially. “My goodness, Kate. Is it-“ He paused, looking all around them as if to make sure the coast was clear. Eventually, he leaned in, hand cupped around his mouth to whisper, “- _ lingerie _ ?”

If she didn’t know any better, Kate would have thought the scandalised tone in his voice was genuine. Thankfully, she did know better. Which is why she instead opted to lightly swat him on the arm. “No not that. Well, yes that too, but it is something else.” Wary of any further antics, she stepped back into the middle of the hall, hands placed squarely on her hips. “I’m not supposed to tell you. She says it is to be a surprise.”

She was still unsure as to why Lady Bridgerton, sorry, Violet, thought Anthony would be so invested in the hem of her wedding gown. As beautiful as the trail of purple tulips she had embroidered were, it didn’t seem seem like something he would be all that interested in. Still, Anthony was Violet’s son, not her’s. Kate had just assumed the secret was yet another Bridgerton family tradition.

He returned to his leaning position against the wall, the epitome of nonchalance. “I could care less what my mother says.”

Now Kate was the one whose interest was piqued. Teasing her was one thing. But teasing his mother was an entirely different story. “Oh really? I will be sure to tell her that.” Ever so slowly, she began to take a few steps along the hall, tapping away at her chin as if in deep contemplation. “If I recall correctly, she was on the balcony with Lady Danbury. I wonder if she is still there?”

In an instant, his infuriating grin was gone, replaced by a solemn glare. “Don’t you even dare.”

She was picking up the pace now, her languid stroll turning into a brisk walk. “Too late! Your fate is sealed!”

“Miss Sheffield you get back here this instant!” It was fair to say that he was growing a bit worried now. “I mean it!”

If she had heard him, then she paid no heed. Instead she began to proclaim in a singsong voice, “I’m going to tell! I’m going to tell!”

He was chasing after her now. There were not many things that Anthony Bridgerton feared, but the wrath of his mother was most definitely one of them. It wasn’t too hard to catch up with her. After all, it wasn’t like she was running away in earnest. She was joking, mostly.

Grabbing her from behind, he wrapped his arms round her waist, stopping her well and truly in her tracks. Effortlessly, he lifted her off her feet. He was quite aware of how capable she was of fighting dirty. “Do you yield?” She was giggling now, but gave no response. So he did what any man would do and began to shake her. “I said, do you yield?

“I yield! I yield!” She managed to breath out between fits of laughters, gripping on to his arms for dear life. “Now put me down!” The gentleman that he was, Anthony complied. But not before giving her one final spin for good measure.

Gently, he set her back on her feet, both of them laughing the entire time. In all the hysterics, neither noticed that his arms were still very much around her waist. Nor that his chest was pressed entirely against her back. Not even how easily his chin rested on her shoulder, almost as if it was designed to be a perfect fit.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Kate had yet to catch on. Meanwhile, Anthony was taking full advantage of the newfound closeness and was sneaking a peak down her bodice. What? He was gentleman, not a monk.

And even that wasn’t entirely true. For Kate had almost immediately clocked on to what he was doing. She simply chose not to say anything. Instead opting to let her head fall back against his chest. All that chasing and spinning had left her feeling incredibly lightheaded. The fact it gave him an even better vantage point to look at her cleavage was a total coincidence. And the closeness was an added touch.

They were close. Dangerously close. And a nagging voice in the back of her brain knew far too well what happened when she allowed herself to be in such proximity to Anthony Bridgerton. One of them had to be sensible and it bloody well wasn’t going to be him. Which is why she quickly scurried away, looking for anything she could think of to change the topic of conversation. She pointed randomly to one of the portraits on the wall. “This is a wonderful painting you have here, who is it of?”

His eyes followed her finger and the witty retort he was about to make died on his tongue. He knew exactly who it was. “My father. It was painted not long after he had succeeded my grandfather. He was 19.”

“It must have been difficult, taking on such responsibility while so young.” She mused, clearly thinking aloud.

“Yes, I imagine it was” But he didn’t have to imagine, he knew.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that her attention was no longer on the portrait. Instead, Kate seemed much more intent on studying the lines of his face. He let her continue for a moment more before turning to ask, “What?”

“It is nothing, it’s just...” She hesitated, clearly trying to find the exact words. When she did, her expression softened. “You have his eyes.”

Anthony didn’t know what to say to that. He was used to getting compliments, hell, he enjoyed it. They were his bread and butter. But never before had he received one that left him feeling so, _seen_. So they just let the words hang there. Nothing more needed said. The space between them filled with a comfortable silence, born from mutual understanding and something he dare not name. Something intimate. Something that almost seemed like-

“I have been thinking.” She proclaimed suddenly as she looked away.

He cleared his throat, “I would be concerned if you had not.”

“About names.”

“Whose names?”

“The children’s.”

“Whose children?”

“The Earl of Liverpool’s.” She nudged him in the ribs with the crook of her elbow. Not a malicious attack, like she had done so many times before. This was much more jovial, friendly even. “Ours, you ninny.”

“Ah, I see.” Nodding as he inched closer to her side.

Kate paid him no mind, her eyes still fixed ahead. “I should think the matter has crossed your mind as well.”

“The names of the children? No.” Her hand was nestled between the crook of his elbow now, the sleeve of his waistcoat pressed against the skin of her sinfully bare arm. They were almost cheek to cheek. It was easy for him to turn and speak his musings directly into her ear. “Making the children? In vivid detail.”

Try as she might to keep a straight face, there was no denying the flush of red that burned across her cheek. Nor the subtle shiver that traveled down her spine. It clearly took all her energy to keep her gaze fixed to the portrait ahead, instead of turning her head to face him.

Eventually, she was able to regain some modicum of composure as she cleared her throat. “Are you quite done?” She asked, nonchalantly taking a step forward and removing her arm from his yet again.

“For now.” She could practically hear the smirk that was in no doubt plastered on his face.

“I am well aware that the only way this marriage will be able to function is if we are forthright with one another. Which I why I need to get this off my chest.”

She let out a heavy sigh before turning again to face him, a determined look in her eyes. “I am not naming my children alphabetically.”

“Pardon?” He nearly laughed. Of all the things he thought she was going to say, this was not one of them.

“I know it is a family tradition and I would never do anything to disrespect your mother. But I cannot bring myself to do it.” She was pacing down the hall now, as she often did when she was lost in thought. It was near impossible for her to stay still when she put those gears in that blasted head of her’s to work. “You have seven siblings, one of them can uphold the tradition. It will not be you. More importantly, it will not be I.”

It was not difficult for him to catch up with her. “I see. And what makes you think that I should let you have any say in the matter?”

Now that, that made her stop. “I am the one who will be carrying the thing for nine months. I should bloody well think that I will be the one who decides what to call it.” From the look in her eye, he knew not to push the matter further. Lest the next nudge be aimed much lower and a lot less friendly.

“I will concede that your argument has merit.”

Now it was her turn to gloat, obviously pleased with herself. “As they most often do.”

“Then what would you suggest?”

“Well, for a girl, I have always liked the name Charlotte.”

A good choice. Pretty, but sensible. He would have expected nothing less. “And for a boy?”

“Edmund.” Once again, she tucked a strand of hair behind ear. A nervous habit, no doubt. “It just feels, right. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She just looked at him, clearly hoping to gauge his reaction. Her expression was soft, almost tender. Then, just barely, she smiled. A wisp of a thing, meant just for him.

And at that moment, something in his heart swelled.

Something he would not name. Something that he could not name. Because he knew better, he had to know better.

“Completely.”

She positively beamed. “Splendid, we have finally found a topic we can agree on.”

“It was bound to happen eventually.” He wanted to tell her he liked it when she smiled. That the room always got a little brighter when she did. That he’d give just about anything to see it. But that would once again be verging on dangerous territory. The subject had to be changed. 

“So how many of these hypothetical children will we be having?”

“As many as it takes until we have a son I suppose.”

“Oh there’s no need to worry about that. A Bridgerton’s first baby is always a boy.” More or less.

That made her take pause. She clearly hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Well, in that case, what number would you suggest?”

“We could always aim for nine. Beat Mother and Father’s record.”

Her jaw practically dropped. “Please tell me you are joking.”

“No you’re completely right, ten. We must keep the numbers even.” How else would they play Pall Mall otherwise?

She crossed her arms firmly across her chest. “Not on your life.” The look on her face told him that she did not like the direction this conversation was heading.

“Seven?”

“Two.”

“Six?”

“Three.”

“Four?”

She paused, clearly mulling it over. Finally, she extended her right hand to him, prepared to shake on it. “You have a deal.”

He knew that she wanted him to shake her hand. She knew that he knew that that was what she wanted. He knew that she knew that he knew. Which is precisely why he took her hand, raised it to his lips and gave her knuckles the lightest of kisses, his eyes not breaking away from her’s the entire time. “I am glad to see that you have finally learned there is no point in trying to negotiate with me.”

“Not quite.” She leaned in, a smug look on her face. “You see, I would have settled for five.” To add insult to injury, she placed her other hand over his, giving him a mocking pat.

“You, Miss Sheffield, are an absolute menace, do you know that?”

“I suspect that is what you admire most about me.” She shrugged. Why was it that she always knew which exact buttons to press? Such behaviour from anyone else would’ve left him utterly enraged. Yet, in that moment, she probably could have gotten away with just about anything.

“Possibly.”

It was then that Kate realised that she was still holding his hands. If he had any quarrel with that, he did not let on. Upon that realisation, she looked over her shoulder, for the first time realising how exposed they were. They were standing in the middle of a hallway after all. “I suppose people will be wondering where we have disappeared to.”

“Let them wonder.” He shrugged.

That was precisely what she was afraid of. The Aubrey Hall incident caused enough uproar as is. She didn’t need this as well. Abruptly, she dropped his hand, using her own to dust off an imaginary piece of fluff from her skirt. “We should head back.”

“I suppose we should.”

However, despite their words, neither of them had moved an inch. Instead choosing to fall into yet another comfortable silence.

It was Kate who broke the stalemate. “I shall go first.”

“That would probably be best, yes.” More like most definitely. They both knew that he wasn’t going to.

She turned as if to go, before stopping in her tracks, an odd expression settling upon her face. “Anthony, I-“

And before he knew what was happening, her hands were on his face and her lips were on his.

If Anthony was being completely honest, it wasn’t the greatest kiss he had ever received. Nor the most graceful. And it definitely was not the most experienced. 

Her hands lay timidly on his cheeks, obviously unsure of where to put them. Meanwhile, her head was at too awkward of an angle, one wrong move and he feared his nose would poke her eye out. The girl obviously had no idea what she was doing, standing on the tips of her toes, and running off of pure instinct. It was by no means the world’s best kiss. Yet, standing there in that hallway on that summer night, he knew that this would be his favourite. 

In the flurry, he realised that his arms had once again found themselves around the small of her back, pulling her to him. After what felt like an age, but was most likely 20 seconds, the need to breathe prevailed. Anthony was the one to pull away, his forehead resting against her’s. He tried in vain to focus on steadying his breathing, as opposed to the all-consuming scent of lilies and oh-so-sensible soap that threatened to override his senses. He dared not to lift his eyes to look at her’s directly, scared of what the very sight could do to him. Instead he focused on her frustratingly kissable mouth, that sat a mere few inches from his. Finally, he managed to breath normally again. “Why on earth did you do that?” He exhaled. 

“Because I wanted to.” She answered, speaking as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Anthony Bridgerton had been kissed by many women in his life. By singers and thespians and heiresses and just about every other kind of woman that fell in between. And they all had had their reasons; lust, thrills, luxury, to name a few

But, in that moment, he realised that no-one had ever done it just for the sheer sake it. For no other reason than that they could. It was a strange feeling. Almost lovely. 

Almost. 

Before he even had the chance to open his mouth, she placed a finger to his lips, silencing him instantly. 

“Don’t.” She whispered, eyes still half-closed. “Don’t ruin it.”

Just as soon as she had placed the finger to silence him, it was gone again. Immediately replaced by the quickest of pecks to his lips. Much more gentle than the first, but assured. Someone was a quick study. Soon enough, her hands were around her back, removing his arms and untangling her body from his. Finally, she stepped back, putting a painfully respectable distance between them. “Goodnight, my lord.” And then, she had the nerve to do a goddamn curtsy. 

The cheeky minx. 

And with that, she was on her way down the hall, no doubt about to rejoin their guests in the ballroom. It took far longer than he cared to admit for Anthony’s wits to come back to him. When he had finally regained the ability to form sentences, all he could manage to call out was, “I will see you on Saturday!”

Never breaking her stride, she spun around to reply with,“I’ll be the girl in the white dress!”, before twirling round again. 

Funnily enough, he realised it was the most graceful manoeuvre that he had ever seen Kate accomplish. And, with a flourish, she was on her way, him watching her as she went. She was his betrothed after all. It was only proper that he ensure she had made it back safely. That was the only reason for it. 

He could stop looking at her any time he wanted. He just didn’t want to. Which was fine. All he was doing was looking at her. There was no deeper meaning to it. Men do it all the time. In a moment she would be gone from view and the the fire in his chest would subside. His senses would dull. The storm would pass. He would not burn. He refused to. So long as there were no more surprises, he would be fine. Yes, so long as she didn’t look back and show him that blasted smile, everything would be fine. Completely fine. In a moment she would walk round the corner and things could carry on just as they had. Nothing to worry about. 

And then, just as she was about to round the corner she stopped. And then she turned. And then she smiled, that blasted, unwarranted, incandescent smile of her’s. And as quick as she had done it, she turned the corner and she was gone. And Anthony Bridgerton was left with all but one consuming thought.

Well.

_ Shit._

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone interested, the dress Kate is wearing is a real piece on exhibition in the Victoria & Albert Museum in London. You can find it here: http://m.vam.ac.uk/collections/item/O13823/evening-dress-unknown/


End file.
